Munir isn’t a merchant.
He’s a scavenger. An alchemist tracking Wallachian raiders through Serbian backroads. Not for coin. And certainly not for justice. But for something they don’t know they’re carrying: tears of sorrow, collected from weeping mothers.
When the Wallachians ambush him at the forest edge, Munir doesn’t run. He sells them the lie instead. Plays the humble peddler, offers a yellow flask of “medicine” for their wounded, asks to see their alchemical stores in trade.
The Wallachian commander knows something’s fishy. But the deal’s already made.
Then the Ottomans arrive. Tahsin’s unit crashes the camp from the tree line. Chaos splits the night. The leader turns on Munir, accuses him of leading the Turks straight to them.
Munir smiles. Holds up the flask.
“You’re correct. But it isn’t my last breath.”
He throws it.
The final panel lights up like Walter White’s office in Breaking Bad. We don’t see what happens next. We only witness flash, the expansion, and Munir sprinting.
In war, every transaction has a cost. Munir paid in deception. The Wallachians are about to pay in full.
The fallout (what spreads from that shattered flask and who walks out of the gas) is where Issue #1 opens.